


Battle Scars

by Tasharene



Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic, swtor - Fandom
Genre: Drabble, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-12 01:29:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9049726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tasharene/pseuds/Tasharene
Summary: A very short drabble depicting some of the personal issues my Sith Warrior tries to deal with post-KotFE/KotET.





	

* * *

 

The other side of the bed was empty when Theron opened his eyes, hoping to see the relaxed face of his sleeping lover. Reaching out, he smoothed out the creases on Virdaar’s pillow and his palm dipped into the soft down of the filling. A deep sigh escaped him when he felt that the crimson fabric under his fingertips had already cooled down.

Nightmares, then. Again.

It was somewhat disconcerting to simply allow his bare feet to make their funny slapping sounds on the metallic floor. In the small bedroom, the noise seemed louder even than the ever present rain of Dromund Kaas beating against the tall windows. Stifling a sigh, he struggled with the urge to sneak, hide, look for potential threats. This was home, after all. Quite possibly the most secure area on the whole damn planet, and yet… old habits die hard. Months and years of looking over his shoulder had left their imprint.

Tiptoeing his way downstairs, alert and ready to defend himself, Theron wasn’t surprised when a large nexu homed in on him and raced across the corridor to slobber all over his face in a clumsy show of affection. Or demand for treats. Or, most likely, both.

“You are more spoiled than an Alderaanian noble’s first born, you know that?”

The creature tilted its massive head and gave him a befuddled huff. With cybernetic enhancements in its collar, the nexu could make sense of most of the words spoken to it, but it seemed that Theron’s brand of humor had managed to confuse the programming.

“You’re a good boy, Scar,” the man offered, wiping the drool off his cheeks with the back of a hand. “I need to find your master now, all right? Alone.”

The beast shot him a disappointed look from all four of its eyes but obediently moved out of the way, heading straight for the bedroom, no doubt to claim the bed for itself. And tear the covers to shreds. As per usual.

With a shake of his head, Theron allowed himself a small chuckle and moved on. Soundlessly.

Oblivious to the spy’s expert stealth technique, the garage door opened the moment he got close to it, confronting the young man with a faceless statue of Darth Marr. Thank the stars, it was easy to ignore the eyesore, for a much more enticing view had presented itself as soon as he took a few hasty steps inside.

Utilizing the entirety of the tall, empty space, Darth Virdaar was unleashing unimaginable amounts of rage onto the training dummies scattered around the floor. For a sith of truly formidable size, he moved as if gravity was nothing to him… come to think of it, it probably was just that. A meaningless force of nature he could just bend to his will.

Unsure whether he should feel terrified or aroused by such a display of power, Theron leaned against the statue’s pedestal. The fact that Virdaar chose to not put on anything more than a pair of pitch black boxers, made the view all the more appealing.

Sparks flew as the lightsaber’s blade slashed against metal, leaving dark scorch marks on the walls. The lights overhead dimmed momentarily every time the sith let loose his pent up fury in a searing-red wave of a force attack.

And yet, the spy had seen enough of such training sessions to know that this time, something was different. There was a sharper edge to the ferocity of the battle cries, and a more desperate curl of the fingers throwing the saber in a wide arc… both a painfully familiar sight since the Eternal Emperor’s ultimate defeat.

“Hey…”

One simple word, spoken in barely more than a whisper, was enough to catch the warrior’s attention and stop him mid-attack. Theron’s heart skipped a delighted beat when Virdaar’s features softened the moment he noticed him, a bloodthirsty snarl miraculously smoothing into a relieved, if a bit faint, smile.

“Hey yourself.”

There was no time for more words when a pair of powerful arms locked around the spy in a possessive hold, one that Theron would also call needy… if “needy” was ever a word anyone could associate with the former Emperor’s Wrath. Still, there he was, a relatively small human, his arms full of a giant, sweaty pureblood sith. Virdaar refused to let go for a long while, keeping his dark red face buried in the crook of Theron’s neck, breathing in the man's sleepy scent as if it was the very air the warrior needed to live.

“I killed you again.”

The confession did not surprise the spy, not after he had heard it time and again, whenever Virdaar’s battered mind decided to conjure up nightmares to toy with the one fear the invincible Alliance Commander was unable to overcome. Battle scars weren’t exclusively for the flesh, Theron knew that all too well.

“And yet here I am,” he whispered and, pulling back at last, tiptoed to kiss the thin, anxious line of the sith’s pursed lips. “Very much alive, and very much turned on by the sight of you doing all those lightsaber tricks.”

“Tricks, huh?”

“Mhm. Dazzling, all of them.”

“Very well, I’ll show you tricks.”

“Right here?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“We’re going to hurt Marr’s poor virgin eyes.”

“Come on, the statue doesn’t even have a face.”

“Well, I’ve heard that ghosts are a thing with you, force people.”

“Shall I invite him for a threesome, then?”

“I’m so going to wipe that smug grin off your face, sith.”

“Please, do. And then I want to be the little spoon.”

“Little. You. Have you ever seen yourself in the mirror?”

“I don’t need a mirror, I have you.”

“I swear, you are the only person in the whole galaxy that can render me speechless.”

“Does that mean I win?”

“Is this a contest of some sort now?”

“I’m a sith. I’m competitive.”

“Fine, let’s see who holds out longer this time.”

“You’re going to be such a _sore_ loser, love.”

“Har har.”

In the master bedroom, Scar the nexu rolled onto his back and let out a delighted purr. If the sounds coming from downstairs were any indication, no one was going to chase him out of the warm and comfy bed any time soon. Life was good.

 

* * *

 

 


End file.
